AN: It lives.

When Winter Strikes

11. The Pieces Start to Fall

Part of Natasha often wondered why she and Clint bothered with things like this: meeting up, going for drinks somewhere that wasn't Asgard, talking about anything but shop, then him walking her home as if he was a gentleman. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the few hours of normality such excursions allowed for, but it seemed like a waste of time and effort afterwards – they were still wetboys at the end of the day, regardless of whether he walked her home or not (and it was purely an act – they both knew she could easily fend off anyone who was dumb enough to attempt something). Although, at this rate, she'd be walking herself home.

Frowning at the shadows in the corners, Natasha decided to give in and admit that Clint wasn't hiding among them. Sipping her wine, she combed over the tavern from her nondescript corner, scanning both the floor and the rafters thoroughly. She watched the door to the toilet for five minutes, repeated the scanning routine until she finished her wine, then left a few coins on the table and slipped out.

Clint wasn't outside, so she made her way to Asgard. It had been a while (make that a few years) since she'd last set foot inside the brothel of her own will; the Shinga often asked her to visit for business purposes, and whilst Lady Sif and her girls were pleasant enough it just wasn't a place Natasha felt entirely comfortable. Even so, it was Clint's favourite haunt, and if he'd decided to come here before their meet-up and annoy Bobbi for a while, she was going to be cross.

"Haven't seen him. Sorry Nat," Bobbi said with a shrug.

"When was he last here?"

She dropped her chin into her hands. "Not sure… Few days ago?" Then her brow furrowed. "Actually, come to think of it, don't think I've seen Clint here in at least a week. Hey, Darcy," Bobbi called. "When was Clint last here?"

The brunette shrugged. "A few days ago maybe? But why are you asking me – you're the one he pines over."

Bobbi cleared her throat. "If you find him tell him he still has to pay up on his last tab," she said to Natasha, then went back to studiously cleaning the bar. The wetboy took the hint.

She ended up scouring the entire low-end of the city. He was without a contract as far as she knew, and would have told her if one had come up; secrets between them were only kept when the subject contained painful or dangerous information, knowledge that either hurt to talk about or could result in hurt if talked about. There was one safe house that they kept hidden from each other – if Clint was there, for whatever reason, Natasha knew she had no chance of finding him. Still, he would have told her somehow, through Sam or Bobbi – and the fact that she hadn't seen him in days was an alarm bell in itself.

At almost midnight, with the moon bathing the Plith in a greasy grey light, Natasha finally spotted him: he was leaving the Warrens, a determined air to his stride, bow and quiver slung across his back. He stopped in the shadows of a house, and Natasha slipped into her own as she closed the distance between them. It was only when she was one building away that she realised he was talking to someone, the words low and indistinct but clearly orders. As she dipped into her Talent to hear better, the conversation broke and Clint re-emerged, still striding purposefully as he turned towards the castle.

Watching him pass her by, Natasha felt a knot tighten in her gut, the same knot that told her when danger was approaching, just on the horizon. She cast a glance back at the house he'd hidden by, but there was no indication of anyone having been there at all. Her plan of action formed on the spot – wrapping her shadows more closely around her, she climbed up to the rooftops and followed her colleague.

Everything was quiet. Not quiet in the peaceful sense – more like a muffled, constant background noise that the conscious was only aware of when the sound was focused on. Even so, the 'quiet' was the first thing he identified. The lack of oxygen was the second. The water was the close third.

James opened his eyes to find he could see as much as he could hear. As his instincts kicked in hard, he tried to make sense of what was happening, besides the obvious fact that he couldn't breathe, see, or hear, but it was only when he broke the surface of the water, choking and gasping, that he began to organise his thoughts and actions. Seeing a bank through a coughing fit, James forced himself to swim over to it, struggling slightly to pull himself out of the filthy body of water. He collapsed on all fours, heaving air into his chest and retching at the vile taste on his tongue. Vision flickering, he closed his eyes, resting his head on the ground until his breathing evened out and he could think coherently. Loki, he remembered, was at large – James had to stop him, or else Cenaria was doomed. With a grimace, he pushed himself up and looked around.

"Stay where you are!"

James froze. It was dawn, judging by the light, and the smoky orange sky made silhouettes out of the multitude of shacks and sheds in the distance, familiar in a way he couldn't quite place. He was in the Warrens, then, and in front of him stood five kids and a dog, all looking torn between asking him if he was okay and mugging him. To help them make their decision, he fixed his eyes on the weedier of the boys and glared a little. "How do I get out of here?"

The boy flinched, scratching his head. His light brown hair looked filthy, and his red and blue clothes were torn and streaked with black. "Uh –"

"Don't tell him, Spidey!" one of the girls snapped. She had a loaded slingshot aimed in James' direction, and there was something he recognised in the way she kept her eyes narrowed at him.

The boy – Spidey – frowned. "Why not?"

"Why d'you think?"

The dark-skinned boy eyed him warily. "Kate, he's out of our league," he said.

"Look at his arm," the blonde girl said, pointing to his left.

Slowly getting to his feet, James let himself grin. "I'd listen to your friends, girl," he said darkly. "Go through my pockets and you might not like what you find."

"Are you a mage?" the black-haired boy next to the dog asked, eyes wide. He had a red blanket draped over his shoulders, and a grey band kept his hair out of his eyes.

The wetboy chuckled. "No. But that doesn't make me any less dangerous."

"So then who are you?" Kate demanded. "What are you doing in the river?"

Refraining from growling, he closed his eyes. "I haven't got time –"

"Oh, shit!"

They all turned to the kid who'd asked if he was a mage. "What is it, Wiccan?" Dark-skin asked.

Wiccan's eyes hadn't moved from James, and he gulped. "Guys, this… this is the Winter Soldier!"

Blondie's eyes grew wide. "He's right, Kate – remember the stories? The man who appears out of nowhere, as deadly as the Night Angel with an arm like solid silver!"

Kate lowered her slingshot as they all turned back to him. "Are you?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "If I tell you, will you show me the way out?"

They exchanged glances before the dark-skinned boy nodded. "Yeah. We will."

James thanked a bunch of gods for not forcing him to hurt one of them. "My name is James Barnes," he said. "I'm a wetboy for the Sa'kagé, and was once known as the Winter Soldier." He watched them all take it in, faces a mixture of awe and fear. "Now, if you're done attempting to mug me, I'd like to get out, thanks."

Dark-skin was the first to recover. "Sure," he said. "It's this way. Come on."

The small group led him through the mess of gutters that was the Warrens, introducing themselves as they went. "My name's Patriot," Dark-skin said. He pointed to the two girls. "That's Kate, that's Stature, and then the other two are Wiccan and Spidey."

"And this is Teddy," Wiccan said, reaching down to ruffle the dog's ears.

James nodded, wondering vaguely why guild rats gave themselves such strange names. "How old are you all?"

"Stature's almost a big," Kate said. "She'll be our first one."

"The first big in the guild?"

"The first big in our guild," Spidey corrected.

"What?"

"We're the Young Avengers!"

He couldn't help it – he stopped in his tracks. Knowing what he knew about guilds, he was surprised a bunch of kids this young would decide to start a guild themselves, and with so few members. "You're kidding."

"Why would we be kidding?" Kate asked, hands on her hips.

"There's five of you."

"Six," Wiccan muttered.

"We have more coming," Spidey insisted. "There's Speed, Chavez, and Noh-varr."

James stared at them. "That's still only eight."

"Nine."

"We can manage with only nine of us," Kate insisted. "Noh-varr and Chavez are bigs, they're gonna take care of us."

"And in the meantime, we look out for each other," Stature added.

"Our old guilds hated us," Spidey explained, "so we all banded together."

Patriot stepped forward. "We've been at this a while," he said. "We know what we're doing."

Looking at them all, five oddly-dressed kids and a golden-coloured dog that looked out of place in the Warrens, James felt something close to protectiveness stir inside him. The idea that these kids had been bullied out of the groups that were supposed to look after them in this shit-hole didn't sit well with him, and frankly, he didn't hold out much hope for their survival. "You're sure these other guys are coming to join you?"

They frowned. "Well, kind of," Wiccan said quietly, Teddy nuzzling against his limp hand.

James breathed out harshly. Now was not the time to be thinking about helpless kids. "Are we nearly out or what?" They continued to lead him through the rank streets, more subdued after his expression of disbelief at their little 'guild'. Patriot seemed to want to know everything about him: how old he was, where he came from, how long he'd been killing; most James avoided answering, but when they boy asked why his arm was metal, he gave him the much shorter, more enigmatic answer: "Monsters are scarier in real life than in stories." When he wasn't being pestered about his past (his 'legacy', Spidey called it, and as much as he hated the idea, James realised he was right), he tried to formulate some sort of plan for stopping whatever Loki had coming; whilst his priority was personally stopping the mage, there was the bigger issue of a Lodricari army currently advancing on the city. Skilled as he was, an entire battalion was beyond James' abilities. He had to appeal to the nobles – Steve, he knew, had a position in Odin's army, and Thor was renowned for his battle prowess as a younger man, but as he debated going to warn them about what was happening he worried that he wouldn't be able to spare the time to convince them that he was telling the truth. Loki moved fast, and James needed to be faster. The Sa'kagé were out of the question, as Fury had made quite clear, and he had no way of knowing where anybody was. Could Stark help, he wondered? He was connected to Shinga's hand, but James doubted there was any true loyalty to the organisation there. Perhaps he could even try finding the mage who'd originally –

"Okay, we're here."

They'd arrived at a bridge, one James recognised. He wasn't as far away from the castle as he'd feared, but with no sense of how much time had passed since his attempted murder he wanted to get there sooner rather than later. That, in turn, meant he had to choose: save the King, or warn the nobles about the army. Then there was Darcy…

"Hey, 'cause we helped you out and all, think we could get a little payment in return?"

The idea came to James as if bestowed upon him by the gods. Turning to Spidey and the other kids, he grinned. "I can do better than that. But you'll have to do a couple more things for me first."

Kate folded her arms. "Like what?"

"I need some messages taking to some very important people, and fast. Do that, then return here, and I'll do my best to make sure you're paid in full. Do we have a deal?" They agreed, so he sent Patriot, Wiccan, and Stature to Steve, Thor, and Stark, Spidey to find Natasha, and Kate to find Clint. Once they dispersed, he himself ran straight for Asgard, deciding that even the briefest of warnings was better than leaving Darcy and Lady Sif's girls unprepared. Pulling on as much Talent as he could to move himself faster, James prayed their efforts wouldn't be in vain.

Everything about Clint's behaviour suggested he was working a contract. It put Natasha on high alert, though – he had no contract to be taking out, least of all one from the King's castle. She suspected his mysterious correspondent was involved, and for a moment wondered if he did actually have a deader in mind, someone dangerous enough to hide from her. That thought was scrapped when he turned down towards the servants' area. He didn't even use his shadows, though nobody seemed to question the presence of a strange man with a bow and quiver on his back.

Thinking back to her own reasons for entering servants' areas in the past, Natasha came up with three possibilities: he was meeting another contact; he was going to contaminate something; he was scoping out escape routes. Brow creasing in frustration, Natasha hurried after him, silencing her footfalls and clinging to as many shadows as she could. Clint made his way quickly through the corridors, suggesting he already knew where he was going, and after a few minutes he disappeared through a door Natasha was familiar with: the door to the kitchens. Waiting was her only option, and it wasn't long before he emerged again, striding back in the same purposeful manner. As he passed her, Natasha saw his eyes – and the ethereal blue glow that coloured them, and in that moment following him became important for a whole other reason.

Never again, he'd sworn. The Shinga had accepted it as a promise, and if he found out Clint was being controlled again, the wetboy would become the deader, and Natasha wouldn't put it past Fury to send her after Clint, and if not her then Wade. She didn't want to decide which was worse, but her mind was in turmoil as she followed Clint away from the kitchens, through a different exit than the one he'd entered through; the loose plan was that she would follow him to whomever he was meeting – presumably the mage controlling him, though she knew of no magic within a mage's power allowing such control – and then she would kill that person. It was simple, and it would stay between the two of them. Perhaps they'd even be able to rectify –

Natasha barely avoided the arrow that skimmed the top of her head as she ducked, though she was fast enough to block the kick that followed it and struck out against Clint's standing leg. As he fell she scrambled up, discarding her shadows in favour of using her Talent for speed, and drew her throwing knives. Even as she launched the first one he was moving again, rolling so they hit his quiver or could be deflected with his boot, then they were throwing themselves at each other again and his bow was moving fast towards her midsection. She stepped in, jabbing the inside of his elbow and kneeing him in the solar plexus, but before she could land another blow he swung his fist into her head and they stumbled apart once more.

They were at a standoff. Blinking away the stars in her vision, Natasha watched as he slowly nocked an arrow, vicious gaze settled on her. "Clint," she called, his name echoing in the dark corridor, "this isn't you."

Clint's only reaction was to raise his bow.

Seeing men fall out of Asgard wasn't a wholly unusual sight. Seeing them fall in was not as common an occurrence.

"James!" Wanda squeaked as he landed at her feet.

"Lady Sif," he gasped, hurriedly righting himself and looking around Asgard's main room. "I need to speak to her. It's urgent."

"She's in her room, you'll have to – James, wait! You're not allowed there!"

James ran up the stairs, ignoring the sounds of a particularly loud client and heading directly for Lady Sif's private room. He knocked loudly, giving his name when she asked who it was through the door. To his surprise, she bade him enter.

"This is unexpected, James," she said as he stepped in. With her attention on the window her back was to him, and her often restrained hair fell in dark, gentle waves down her back. A glass of wine rested on the windowsill by her hand, and she was dressed in just a night shift.

Quashing his slight arousal at the sight, James wasted no time in getting to the point. "You and the girls need to get out of here," he told her. "There's a Lodricari army headed for Cenaria, and if resistance can't be gathered in time –"

"What makes you think an army is coming?" she asked abruptly, sipping her wine as he answered.

"Lord Laufeyson is attempting a coup. He is not who the city believe him to be, and has connections to Khalidor –"

Lady Sif laughed softly. "James, that is ridiculous! I have known Loki since he was a boy, he cannot possibly be interested in being friends with Khalidor. He despises them as much as the rest of us."

"That's what he wants you to think! He's tricking us, going behind all our backs – he very recently tried to poison me!"

"And why should I believe you?"

James faltered. "Excuse me?"

The glass was set down carefully. "You haven't forgotten where you're from, have you James?" she asked. "I certainly haven't. How do I know that this isn't a ploy to remove me from Cenaria and into Khalidor's clutches?"

"What?" he blurted. "That's ridiculous! Lady Sif, I care for you, your girls and this city too, why else would I be warning you first –"

"If a Lodricari army was heading for Black Barrow the Sa'kagé would have alerted King Odin already." She turned slightly, the corner of her eye just visible. "I would place my trust in the organisation that has protected this city for centuries over a man who once sought to cripple it."

Her words cut him deep, and he suddenly found himself angry. "That's it?" he snapped. "You think I'm lying to you?" She said nothing, drinking her wine again. "Do you have any idea what a Lodricari army would do to Cenaria? What they would do to Asgard? They would have their way with all of you, mutilate the city as they please; but you can bet they'll leave it largely intact for the Khalidorans who'll follow, and they won't have any such limitations. You are putting yourself at risk, Sif – putting the girls at risk – by staying here. I can't believe you'd bet your freedom on –"

"Don't you dare speak to me of freedom!" In a split second, Sif had spun away from the window and into James' personal space. No sooner had he registered the untampered fury in her eyes than he realised she was completely without make-up. Four tiny, thin jagged scars lined her left cheekbone, each a lifeless white colour yet beacons to his gaze. Despite their prominence it wasn't hard to miss the lines of stress on her face, the worry amidst the wrath, and James felt all his anger swept out of him in one fell swoop. Lady Sif stared him straight in the eye. "You suggest I would do nothing to maintain the safety of my girls," she said, tone low and deadly, "but what do you expect of me when all I have is your word, the word of a Khalidoran wetboy? I cannot trust you, and for their sake and the sake of our city I will not." She stepped closer. "Cenaria is tearing in two – not visibly, but the tension is there, and the Shinga is fighting to keep it intact. Your claim threatens to split us asunder, with or without impending invasion, and if the nobility decides to disavow the Sa'kagé it would spell doom for us all."

From the moment he'd known her, James had always felt intimidated by Lady Sif. Now, though, he might have admitted to being terrified. Sethi were not placid by nature, rather proud and passionate. He knew he'd been on the receiving end of their fury in his past, but this was practically the first time James was experiencing it for himself. At a loss as to what he should do, he swallowed and quietly said, "I'm not a spy, and I'm not wrong."

Lady Sif's glare turned icy cold. "Then I would ask that you remove yourself from this establishment immediately," she replied in kind, only her words cut him like shards of a broken glacier, and with that she turned and moved to sit at her vanity table.

James took a moment to get past the shock (and disappointment), before he dared to clear his throat. "Then might I say goodbye to Darcy before I leave?"

"No. She's with a client."

He pitied any man who ever had, or ever would, underestimated her. Heart clenching, James turned and left. He passed the room he'd heard noises from earlier, and against his better judgement paused to listen; a breathy moan drifted through the wood and that was enough. He wanted to be out of Asgard as quickly as possible.

"James!" Bobbi called to him as he reached the door. If it weren't for the desperate tone of her voice, he would have ignored her, but looked little like the Bobbi he'd come to know when he finally faced her. "Natasha came here earlier, looking for Clint," she began. "He hasn't been by for a few days. She didn't look very happy about it, and until she asked I didn't think anything of it but now…" Bobbi swallowed, wringing her hands in front of her. "Would you look for him?" she asked. "And let me know when you find him?"

Part of him wanted to tell her he'd never be coming back, that she shouldn't worry after Clint so badly if she couldn't return his feelings. But the unaffected part of his brain noted that his absence was a little strange, and if Natasha was rattled there might genuinely be cause for concern. So he sighed, promised he'd keep an eye out, and made a mental note to work out how to get a message to her. Luckily, a solution provided itself almost as soon as he stepped outside.

"There's a fella with a weight on his shoulders," Toro said. James just gave him a sullen glance, and the rent boy stepped in line with him and nudged him gently. "Wanna try get rid of some?"

"Thanks Toro, but you know I'm not interested."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Not what I meant. Geez, ya sleep with a few guys –"

"What did you mean, then?"

Toro smiled. "I meant d'you wanna talk about it? Blow off some steam with a few punches?"

James faltered in his steps. "Nysos, you let people do that to you?"

"Friends, if they need it," he said nonchalantly, and shrugged. "'Sides, they wanna talk they got Lady Sif's girls for that."

He couldn't help but sigh. "Yeah, not all of us."

"Huh?"

"Lady Sif, uh… She just… kicked me out."

Toro's jaw dropped. "You tried to sleep with –"

"What, no! I'm not stupid!"

"Then what happened?"

James shook his head. "It's not important."

"You got kicked out of Asgard and that's 'not important'?" Toro snorted. "Fine. I'll ask one of the girls next time I'm there."

And there was James' solution. Without warning, he turned to Toro and grabbed him, excited by the idea that had presented itself to him. "I need you to take a message for me," he said quickly.

Alarmed, Toro raised an eyebrow. "What kind of message?"

"You know who Darcy is?" He nodded. "I wanted to say goodbye to her before I left," James explained, "but she was – she was busy."

"What d'you want me to say?"

He relaxed fractionally, taking a moment despite the impending doom to put his words together. Toro ducked into a shop, returning with some writing equipment, and James scrawled down his goodbye, blinking back his tears lest he ruin the ink. Handing it back to Toro, he thanked him sincerely and wasted no more time. As he ran, he wondered perhaps if he should have told him about the army – but what could one rent boy do against a city?

Going down a mountain was, undoubtedly, much easier than hiking up it, especially now that they weren't being threatened by whatever beast decided to plant itself in their way. Still Bruce, full of adrenaline, was trying desperately not to lose his balance as he, Betty and – gods above – Charles hurtled towards the plains. The dark smear that was the army Charles had spoken of looked terrifyingly large as it flowed over the land, and not for the first time he wondered if he was dreaming everything.

"But how will we make it in time?" Betty shouted ahead of him. "It took us days to find you here! They're almost at the Barrow!"

"I can teleport us!" Charles shouted back. "We'll have to meet them before they get close to the city; Odin won't have been alerted yet, if he ever will be, so the nobility will need time to organise themselves!"

"So why are we still running down a mountain?" Bruce yelled.

"Good question!" Charles suddenly skidded to a stop, grabbing first Betty then Bruce, and before he knew it Bruce found himself on flat, level terrain. Shaking off the faint dizziness that accompanied the teleportation, he turned and saw a thick, black line along the bottom of the mountains, a line that was clearly moving closer as the seconds skipped by. He noticed then that a faint tremor could be felt underfoot, and cast a worried look at Charles.

"What is it you think we can do?" he asked.

Looking grave, Charles gazed out at the approaching army. "I honestly don't know," he admitted, "but I'm sure we can do something to slow them down. Betty, if you would work on some defences for us? I doubt they'll have mages with them, so focus on physical blocks."

"I can work both," she said confidently, and Bruce reached out to squeeze her hand.

"I'll see if I can work some confusion between them from here," Charles continued, "perhaps throw in some offensive spells at the same time. And Bruce?" He turned to him, and smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to tap into that anger you hide so well, my friend."

Now it was Betty's turn to squeeze his hand. He took in a deep breath, rocked a little from what Charles had asked of him, and dipped his eyes to the ground. "Okay," he agreed hesitantly, "but if I… if things go wrong, you know you'll have to –"

"It won't come to that," Betty interrupted him, her delicate fingers lifting his chin to meet her gaze. She was smiling softly, an anxious bravery already set in her eyes. "We can do this."

Trying to draw from her strength, Bruce leaned in to kiss her, hoping against the odds that it wouldn't be their last. He remembered a time when he thought he'd never be able to kiss her at all, and he wasn't sure what was worse: that, or thinking that he might never be able to again. Parting, he cupped her face with his free hand while she wrapped hers around his wrist, and with a simple nod they let each other go.

"I'm sorry," Charles said as they all faced the ever-thickening line. "If there were another way…"

"We'll do what we must," Betty said, feet planted, head held high.

Bruce closed his eyes. He zoned in on the sensation of the earth rumbling beneath them. He felt his blood as it surged around his body. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. He tapped into that reserve of magic that he rarely looked upon, let it cascade through him, and pulled down his barriers. As everything rose in a great crescendo around him, he let his mind slip away, taking thoughts of Betty with him into the darkness.

AN: I honestly had no idea it had been over a year since an update! I never intended to let this lie for so long, and I cannot apologise enough. So, if you're still here, thank you so much, and I hope the (inexcusable) wait was worth it! (Longest chapter yet, just to make up for things ;-) also, you guys keep me writing! xx)